Hippies on the Highway
by Tell-Me-Tales
Summary: You don't always get the chance to fix your mistakes. Sometimes, you don't even realize you've made one until it's too late. [Mentioned Drug Use][Starla][AO3 CrossPost]
1. Mixed Message

**Cape Canaveral, FL**  
 **May 06, 1978**

Stan walks into the bedroom to find his wife hastily throwing together a suitcase and his brain short-circuits because the sight in front of him just doesn't make sense. "Carla? What's going on, Baby?"

The woman startles and looks up from her task. "Stanley. I didn't hear you come in." She pushes her hair back from her face in a distracted manner and glances at the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand with a vague frown. "You're back early. Did something happen at work?"

"Lunch break," he answers, "I thought we could go grab a bite together. What's with the suitcase?"

Carla blinks down at the piece of luggage like she'd forgotten it was there. "Oh, right, I haven't told you yet," she says and begins to stuff more clothes into the suitcase, "Thistle's taking me to Oregon with him. - You remember Thistle, right? The new musician at the Juke Joint? - Anyway, apparently there's some festival they hold out there every year that he wants to go to. I think he called it 'Woodstick?' It was something ridiculous like that, I'm pretty sure. It isn't for another month or two, but he said he wouldn't mind leaving early, so we'll be heading out soon. A few hours, probably."

"You're leaving?!" Stan bursts. He pushes the words past his tightening throat, "With, with some dumb hippie?!" This can't be happening.

She looks up long enough to frown at him in disapproval. "Stanley, I know you don't care for his music, but Thistle is hardly dumb. Actually, I think you two might have been friends if you'd ever spoken to each other. I suppose it will never happen now." Carla snaps her fingers suddenly. "Toothbrush!" she exclaims and then disappears into the bathroom for a few seconds before returning with several small items, including the aforementioned toothbrush. She spends a brief moment reorganizing the packed items before regarding him with an impatient sigh and asks, "Would you stop looking at me like that? This has been a while coming. It can't be that big of a shock."

Stan snaps his hanging jaw shut only to reopen his mouth and demand, "Not a shock? Carla, I had no idea this was coming! I, I know that something's been eating at ya, but I didn't think it was serious enough to make you want to leave!"

The woman rolls her eyes. "Well, 'something' is, and it's only growing more serious by the day. I thought that much was pretty obvious, but I guess that was another mistake I made," Carla says and pushes a hand through her bangs again, "Honestly, I probably should have left months ago, but I kept hoping everything would work itself out. I should have known situations like this don't just fix themselves. At any rate, I can't stay here and continue waiting for things to change on their own."

"So that's it? You're just, you're just gonna _go_?" his voice breaks as he says the last word. It feels like his heart is being torn from his chest.

"Yes." She glances at him with regret in her eyes. "Listen, Ley, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to spring the whole thing on you like this, but I have to go. Please don't make this more difficult for me than it already is by acting like I'm the bad guy here."

Hurt causes the words to slip past his lips before he can reconsider them, "And how am I supposed to act when I come home to, to _this_?"

"I don't know, Ley!" she throws both of her arms into the air in exasperation before waving one at him, "I figured you might not like the idea, but I thought you'd at least be a bit more understanding of the circumstances! Honestly, you don't need to make this into some horrible act of betrayal."

"Well, I don't know how you can expect me to feel like it's not!" Stan cries, throwing his own arms out carelessly.

"Really, Ley?" Carla stares at him with her hands planted on her hips, drawing his attention for the first time to the fact that she's wearing bellbottoms. Any other time, he might have liked the way they looked on her; right now, they're just another piece that doesn't fit. "I don't even have the words for how juvenile you're being right now. Grow up."

He forces himself to take a deep breath. None of this makes sense. This isn't the Carla he knows. Something else has to be going on. He just needs to calm down and figure out what it is.

Stan edges around the bed cautiously and reaches out to wrap an arm around her waist. Carla looks rather unimpressed with him but she doesn't fight as he pulls her in. Being this close, he finally catches the scent of _weed_ clinging to her. (And, really, he's surprised he didn't notice it before, the smell is so strong.) Doing drugs _definitely_ isn't like his Carla. Just what has that damn hippie done to her? "Baby, let's talk about this," he begs, "We've been happy, haven't we?"

She favors him with a confused frown but she relaxes some and Stan's willing to call that progress. "Of course we have."

"We moved here, what, four years ago? Stable jobs for both of us, decent apartment, I've kept my nose clean. No scams, no get-rich-quick schemes, I haven't so much as hustled a game of pool since we've been here. I've been good."

"Stanley, don't make this about you," the woman huffs and crosses her arms as she leans back to regard him with an irritated expression.

"I'm trying to make this about _us_!" he corrects. Stan swallows his growing nerves back down and tries again, "Please, Carla-Baby, we got a good thing going, you and me, right here. Don't leave?"

Carla releases a frustrated sigh. "Ley, I'm going. I'm sorry that it hurts you, but I'm not going to change my mind about this." She pulls herself from his embrace and snaps the suitcase closed. "There's a casserole in the fridge that ought to last you a while. Try not to burn the place down if you decide to attempt cooking for yourself, okay?" Carla presses a kiss to his cheek and hugs him tight. "Goodbye, Knucklehead," the woman whispers, "Keep yourself out of trouble for me."

She releases him then, plucks the suitcase off the bed, and slips out of the room.

It's funny, Stan thinks as the first tears begin to fall, how much a heart shattering sounds like a front door closing.

* * *

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	2. Shaken

**Earlier That Day**

" _This number has been discon-_ " Carla slams the phone back into its cradle before the sentence can be completed. Again.

The first time she'd heard it, she'd assumed she misdialed. The second time, she'd been more careful and was surprised when she received the same result. She'd tried a third time more out of desperation than anything.

The woman takes a few shaky breaths before biting her lip nervously. She bounces her knee in agitation as she glances around her home. Out. She needs to get out. She can't think when it feels like the walls are pressing in on her.

Carla slips on her shoes and is out the door into the muggy Florida heat in less than a half-minute.

She doesn't have a destination in mind when she sets out - not consciously, at least - but her feet find their way along a familiar route that leads her directly to the Juke Joint, regardless. Carla blinks up at the careworn sign hanging over the establishment's door when she realizes where her wandering has taken her.

After a moment's hesitation, she decides to go in. It's nearly time for lunch, anyway.

Her shoulders lose a little of their tension just from the comfortingly familiar atmosphere of the space. Absently, she notes that Thistle is providing the entertainment this afternoon, gentle guitar strumming filling the air. There's something inherently soothing about the light melody and her anxiety lessens little by little as she listens to the music.

"Ahem," a quiet but pointed cough brings her back to reality.

Carla startles and stares at the elderly couple in front of her for a moment before she realizes that she's still standing in the entryway. "Oh!" she flushes in embarrassment, "Sorry! I'll just... Uh, excuse me." She shuffles awkwardly around the couple and makes her way further into the restaurant. She turns to -

 _CRASH!_

Carla yelps and nearly falls over. The tiny waitress she ran into isn't so lucky and ends up on the ground with a sore tailbone. Several broken glasses surround them, various sodas and milkshakes spreading across the floor as they escape their respective containers.

"Oh, Linda!" Carla immediately reaches down to help the girl to her feet, "I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention. Are you okay?"

The fourteen-year-old gives her a meant-to-be-a-smile-more-of-a-grimace as she wipes her hands over her soiled uniform. "It's alright, Misses Pines. Accidents happen," Linda says, "Dad keeps spare uniforms in the back, anyway, but I need to clean this up first." She twists her fingers and looks around, a blush rising to her cheeks. And that's when Carla realizes how much of a scene they've made. The music has stopped and everyone in the small building is staring at them. "Uh... I think Haley can take your order, if you like," the young waitress tries valiantly, "Un-unless you'd rather go home to change, or something."

Carla glances down at herself, attention now drawn to the fact that she hasn't escaped their collision unscathed and there's milkshake dripping down her legs. Not a terribly pleasant sensation. Carla gives a grimace of her own in response. "Just, uh, just tell Haley I'd like a hamburger," she decides, "I'll - I think I can clean most of this off in the bathroom. It's not a big deal."

Confrontation officially diffused, the other patrons turn back to their own conversations and meals. The music starts up again. Everything returns to the normal routine of the eatery.

Haley appears at her younger sister's side juggling a mop, broom, and dustpan. "We're really sorry about this, Misses Pines," she says, "I'm sure Linda didn't mean to -"

"No, no!" Carla cuts in, "I wasn't looking where I was going. Linda didn't do anything wrong!"

Haley frowns just a little as she passes the supplies over to her sister. "Still..." the young woman sighs, picking up the tray that had been dropped earlier, "Your meal is on the house."

"She wants a hamburger," Linda puts in, carefully picking up the up the bigger pieces of glass and placing them in the dustpan.

"Right!" Haley says, seeming happy to see things getting back on track, "One hamburger, coming up! There's a booth in the back that's open, if you like, near the restroom."

"That's fine," Carla agrees quickly, "I'll, just, go get cleaned up now." She sidesteps the sisters, listening with half-an-ear as they divvy up the work to clean the mess on the floor.

Carla slinks into the bathroom - a small, one-toilet-one-sink affair that's proof the small business is starting to grow beyond its original ambitions and infrastructure - and locks the door behind her. She heads for the sink and gets to work. She's right, in the end, _most_ of the mess is easy to clean off with a little water and plenty of paper towels. Unfortunately, cotton isn't quite as easy to clean as skin, and her clothes still have sticky, wet splotches on them by the time she's done.

The woman sighs and exits the bathroom. She blinks in surprise when she finds Thistle sitting in the booth Haley had directed her to.

Thistle offers her a small smile and wave in greeting before standing up. "Hey there, Flower Girl," he says and Carla's long since given up on getting the hippie to call her by her name, "I saw what happened earlier." He pauses to reconsider what he said and adds, "Though I guess everyone did." Carla flushes in renewed self-consciousness. "Ah, no, I didn't mean to make you feel bad!" he insists, holding his hands up, "I only figure you might like some dry clothes, is all."

Carla tries for a smile but isn't sure how successful she is. "I'd be kind of surprised if you actually have anything in my size, Thistle," she points out as tactfully as she can.

Thistle laughs. "Oh, not me! 'Course not, Flower Girl! But my girl and you could totally be body doubles. It's crazy!"

"I didn't even realize you had a girlfriend," Carla says. She can only hope she has managed to keep the full extent of her surprise from her tone. It's not that she had thought Thistle was _undateable_ , per se, just that he was so... well, _Thistle_.

"Oh, yeah!" the man says with a grin, "My Heather has a really big heart. She'd totally want to help if she was here. You know, I think you two would like each other. I could introduce you sometime!" Thistle points over his shoulder with his thumb, "Anyway, my van is parked out back. I'm sure there's something of hers in there you could borrow."

Carla gives the man a grateful smile. Dry clothes sound fantastic, right about now. "Thistle, that sounds amazing. Thank you."

The hippie waves her thanks off. "It's no problem, Flower Girl! I'm happy to help!"

* * *

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	3. Serendipity

"This is it!" Thistle says with a proud grin and a showman's flair as he shows off his van.

Carla can't help being privately amused with the presentation. It's moments like these that have her convinced that Stanley would get along well with Thistle if she could ever get her husband to give the hippie the time of day. "Groovy," she returns with a smile of her own.

"Shouldn't be too hard to find something of Heather's that will work for you," the man says while opening the vehicle's back doors to reveal its interior, "Sorry it's a bit messy. Wasn't expecting classy company or nothin', but I'll leave you to it, Flower Girl."

Carla tries to hold onto her smile but the woman can't quite repress the compulsion to wrinkle her nose at the overpowering scent of weed coming from inside the hippie's vehicle. "Thanks again, Thistle," she says, gingerly stepping onto the unmade bed taking up almost the entire floor of the van, "I promise I won't be long!" She closes the doors and is thankful to note that curtains have been installed over the rearview windows.

"No need to rush, Flower Girl!" Thistle calls from beyond the doors.

Carla sighs, takes a breath, and then quickly covers her mouth as she coughs. She tries not to be judgemental - Really, she does! - but just how much cannabis are Thistle and his friends smoking in this tiny space? She doesn't care about the van being a bit messy (She knows what it's like to live out of a vehicle, after all.) but she does wish there was less smoke lingering in the air. The hippie might not think there is a reason to hurry, but Carla disagrees. The woman covers her nose with the fabric of her shirt once she recovers from her coughing fit.

Carla squints around the dim area and soon spots a pair of pants with a waistline that couldn't possibly belong to Thistle. The woman snatches them up - They're bellbottoms. Of course they are. - and does her best to guess how likely they are to fit over her large hips, let alone if they'll be the proper length for her legs. "These... might actually work," the woman muses under her breath.

She doesn't waste any more time. Carla spares a quick glance out the vehicle's windshield, and, after seeing no one, strips out of her milkshake-soaked hotpants and pulls on the bellbottoms. Her borrowed pants strain a little as she forces the button closed, but that she's able to close it at all is already better than what she'd been expecting from them. Now she just hopes that they're _clean_ , but she can't really tell while she's still inside Thistle's van. (The woman abandons any thought of searching for a shirt. While her own didn't escape the milkshake spill unscathed, it isn't nearly soiled enough to justify choking on second-hand marijuana smoke for a moment longer than she needs to.)

Carla barely remembers to reclaim her hotpants from the floor before she hurriedly re-opens the rear doors and stumbles back out into the Florida sunshine. She can't help taking a few deep breaths after escaping the smothering confines of the van.

"Looking good, Flower Girl!" Thistle cheers, hopping off from the car hood he'd been sitting on.

Carla tries to smile at him. She's not sure she succeeds but the hippie seems unfazed either way. "I doubt that, but thank you, Thistle."

"No, you totally do!" the man insists, "Anyone can see."

Carla laughs. "Well, I'll take your word for it," she replies, "It looks like you've wrapped up your performance for today. Would you care to have lunch with me?"

"Love to," he returns and holds out his arm in an overdramatic fashion, "My lady."

The woman giggles at the display and allows the hippie to escort her back into the Juke Joint building.

The hamburger she requested earlier is waiting for her by the time the two return to the booth tucked away by the bathroom, along with a milkshake she hadn't ordered but that the restaurant proprietor knows she favors. Carla stashes her hotpants inside her purse before sliding into the booth to eat her meal.

"Hey! Haley! Can I get a burger and fries? And a coke?" Thistle calls across the room.

"Burger, fries, coke, coming right up!" the young waitress answers in a harried fashion before returning to her previous task in taking care of the lunch rush now crowding the restaurant.

Thistle slides onto the bench across from her in the booth and asks, "So, what's got you walkin' into tiny waitresses today?"

Carla sighs and takes a sip of her milkshake. "Do you want the whole story?"

"I got time," Thistle answers, "Go for it."

"Alright." She stirs the straw around the edges of the glass as she gathers her thoughts. "I have a friend that lives on the other side of the country. My brother-in-law, actually. He and Stanley had a big falling out years ago, but I've kept in touch with him. I'd like to believe I'm stressing over nothing, but he's been acting _different_ for about a year now and I have no idea what caused the change. Sometimes he's normal but other times he behaves like he's someone else entirely. And then he changed _again_ some months ago and started ignoring his phone more often than he picks it up. Today my call didn't even get that far. His number has been flat out _disconnected_! And I just... I'm worried about him."

And Stanley. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't worried about how the fallout of whatever's going on with Ford might affect her husband. She'd watched him mourn Sherman _twice_. First when the man had gone MIA during his second tour in Nam, and then again when Ma had called at the end of last year to let them know he'd passed unexpectedly from a heart attack. Stanley still had his quiet moments and outburst over the loss of his older brother but he was getting better, healing and finding something that might resemble closure. She didn't want to think about what grieving not just an older brother, but his _twin_ , would do to him if something wasn't done to help Stanford.

"I gotta say, Flower Girl, that doesn't sound good," Thistle comments. "I, uh, wouldn't want to condemn anyone for their, uh, _personal choices_ or nothin', but you think maybe he's on the good stuff? Or, well, maybe some not-so-good stuff?" the man questions and Carla has to wonder if someone else drilled the phrase 'personal choice' into Thistle at the same time they passed him his first joint.

Carla snorts. "At this point, I'll be grateful if it's just drugs," she states.

Drugs wouldn't be good, no, but there were options like rehab available if that was the case. From what little she's been able to piece together, Ford may well have gotten into something worse; though she's hard-pressed to pinpoint what, exactly, the man _has_ gotten himself into. A drug _ring_? A loan shark? The 'Shadow Government' he'd mentioned once in a paranoid monologue? She doesn't know, but Stanford seems to be constantly afraid of someone, or maybe some _thing_. She's fairly certain it's someone specific and not some string of paranoid delusions, but she simply isn't able to piece together anything more from the phone calls. God, a simple case of drugs and paranoia would be so much better than some of the things she's imagined. How did it come to this?

"Thanks, Haley!" Thistle breaks her from her brooding as he accepts his food from the waitress. The hippie takes an eager bite from his sandwich and hums appreciatively. Thistle puts off taking another bite long enough to ask, "I know you said there was a falling out, but Stanley's gotta be worried about his brother, right? Why don't you two take a trip out to see him?"

Carla sighs, and, having been reminded she has her own hamburger to eat, takes a large bite to put off answering. "I wish it was that simple," she admits, "but Ley doesn't like talking about his brother. He finds some way to end the conversation as soon I bring him up. It's a painful topic. I gave up on keeping him informed about Stanford after his brother finished school and moved to Oregon. Stanley won't listen -"

"Unreal! Oregon?" Thistle perks up and sets his hamburger aside. The hippie opens the guitar case resting next to him on the bench and rifles through the pockets sewn into the top of it, clearly looking for something.

"Thistle?"

"Me an' my friends have been meaning to go to this - Here it is!" he crows. Thistle turns back to her and does his best to spread out a state map of Oregon in the space between their meals. "We've been wanting to go to this festival they hold out in Oregon for _years_ , but something always comes up and we never go. They call it Woodstick. Ya know, in honor of the baddest party ever thrown! It's held during the summer, so we'd be a few months early, but we could totally swing that! Where in Oregon does your brother-in-law live?"

Carla stares in something of a dumbfounded stupor at the map and the 'X' marked right next to Gravity Falls. Mutely, she points to the tiny town just beside the supposed location of Thistle's 'Woodstick' festival.

"No," the hippie says as he looks first at where she's pointed and then at her. Thistle laughs and punches both his fists into the air as he cheers loudly enough to draw the attention of everyone in the establishment, "Righteous!"

* * *

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